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 Oh, for the laddie with merry een,
 * The laddie I greet when I gae

For a walk i' the field; 'twas so yestreen,
 * His words were as music to me.

Oh, for this laddie with dark-brown hair
 * And skin that is kissed by the sun;

Oh, when shall it be his love he'll declare,
 * Oh, when can I call him my own?

Oh, for this laddie, who knows no fear;
 * With him, hand in hand, to the end

I would walk, all my days a-laughing at care, Then for almost an hour they sat as they were, neither speaking.
 * Then die in the arms of my friend.

Matthew Watson had gone to Burlington and the boys were out of hearing. Ruth and her mother knew that they were free from interruption, and it is not strange that they should have been so superlatively happy. The thought of their soon parting did not trouble the mother for the moment, and the daughter seemed never to give it a second thought. She treated it like some ordinary occurrence, and so had roused her mother's